13. Hattie

HATTIE

T he lights flicker in the haunted Victorian room here in Willoughby Hall, aka Halloween Hollow, as I ready to shake down my suspect, Venetta Brandt.

Cricket hops up onto a dusty old chair next to me and narrows her eyes as she stares at the crystal ball with the floating head swirling around it. This place gives me the creeps, she mewls. And that’s saying something.

True, since she’s basically not afraid of anything. I once left her alone all night with a horror movie marathon on TV. In my defense, I thought it was the Animal Channel that I turned on as I left for an overnight trip to Bangor for a book convention. That was back when I was a librarian—and very happily not finding bodies on the regular. Although those bodies have sort of been the glue that’s held Killion and me together, at least in the beginning.

Who says romance is dead? There’s an irony in there somewhere, but I’m too spent to figure it out.

I glance at the crystal ball, where the disembodied head has fallen silent. The woman’s eyes are closed as if she, too, were trying to steal a moment of rest.

“How’s it going, Venetta?” I ask as I frown over at the redhead.

Venetta startles, her eyes widening as she tears her gaze away from the crystal ball.

“Hattie, what a surprise.” She sneers with a condescending tone in her voice. “And just for the record, I don’t need a crystal ball to know my future. I make my own destiny.” She takes a moment to snarl at both Cricket and me. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be busy planning some tacky wacky event?”

Claws out, Cricket yowls. Be nice, Hattie. We still need to get some information out of her.

Madame Violet’s eyes flit my way. “Perhaps a party for the poor souls without fashion sense?”

I take a moment to gape at the floating head among us. “Funny you should ask, Venetta.” I force myself to look back her way. “I just did that.” My eyes flit over her purple witchy attire. “In fact, I think I’ll call the event the Bewitching Ballroom Bash. Your costume has inspired me.”

Cricket chuckles to herself. Way to butter the big bad witch up, Hattie. Women like Venetta love to have their egos stoked and stroked. Why don’t you ask her how she keeps her broomstick so shiny?

I bite down on a laugh and I shoot Cricket a look.

“Witchy attire?” Venetta blinks back before glancing down at her generous décolleté, and I’m betting there’s a push-up bra behind all that pillowy generosity, too. I should know, I happen to own one or two of those push-up wonders myself.

She leans my way with a wicked gleam in her eyes. “For your information, this dress is Vera Veragamo, haute couture straight off the runway in Paris.”

My mouth falls open because either she’s pulling my leg or she has no clue that she’s wearing some cheap, just this side of polyester, getup, no matter how much she ponied up for the purple disaster.

“Wonderful.” I sigh because it’s hard to be salty to someone so clearly clueless. “Speaking of haute couture, I couldn’t help but notice you having a heart-to-heart with another haute couture hottie, Madame Violet here. Trying to get a peek into your future?”

Venetta’s lips curl into a smirk. “Just seeking some clarity on a few things. Not that it’s any of your business.” Her eyes ride up and down my person and she looks as if she’s about to be sick. How in the world does a mouse like Hattie manage to hang on to a man like Killion?

Who is she calling a mouse?

“Well, it’s always good to have a little foresight,” I say, leaning in. “But I actually have a question about your past. Venetta, what happened last night? Do you have any idea who might’ve done that to Silas?”

I tip my ear her way, but I’m far more interested in what she’s thinking rather than anything she’s about to say.

“Silas?” Venetta’s eyes narrow. “How should I know what happened to the man? Do you think I can read the past? Do I look like a fortuneteller?”

“Reading the past?” I roll my eyes. “That’s not exactly how a fortuneteller works.”

There she goes again, Venetta muses to herself while giving me the stink eye. She’s such a little know-it-all. How can Killion stand to be around her? You’d think he’d much prefer a woman like me. I pretend not to know a single thing. Everyone knows a man loves to feel as if they have all the answers. But I’ll never so much as whisper that in this little mouse’s presence. I’m the last person Hattie Holiday will be getting tips on how to hang on to your man.

As if.

Venetta’s expression hardens, but I can tell she’s trying to keep her composure.

“Look, I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I saw a friend on the ground with a blade sticking out of his chest and reflexively I pulled it out. I’m a natural at stepping in during a crisis. Call it my generous nature.”

Generous nature? Cricket chitters and, my goodness, it sounds like an outright cackle.

Venetta gasps as she looks at my sweet cat. “Is that little beast laughing at me?”

“My cat? Laughing?” I titter at the thought myself. “Heavens, no. She’s—allergic to pricey French perfume.”

“Oh.” Venetta is quick to fan herself. “That would be me.”

I figured it was a safe bet. Truth be told, I’m not getting even a whiff of anything French or pricey. She was totally ripped off. That toilet water was genuinely toilet water in this case. But then, we all know Venetta isn’t doling out the big bucks for “toilet water,” but in a twist of fate, she indeed paid for perfume that was, in fact, toilet water. It’s the who’s on first of perfumery delights.

“Venetta, I saw you arguing with Silas just a little before he was killed. You were actually there with another woman, a blonde dressed as a fairy.”

“Stella Woods,” she’s quick with the name, and I glance to Cricket as if asking her to commit it to memory for me. She might be wearing a fur coat, but Cricket is by far the best sidekick a girl could ask for. “She works at the chocolate shop that Silas’ mother left him,” Venetta continues. Mmm, just thinking about those milk chocolate-covered almonds makes me want to jump on my broom and head down to Main Street.

“Milk chocolate-covered almonds do sound good,” I practically purr the words out before I realize what I’ve done. At least we have that in common?—

Venetta brings her fingers to her lips. “Did I say that out loud?”

“Of course, you did.” I squeeze a tight smile with the lie. “So Stella is the manager? If I remember correctly, she looked a little snippy with Silas that day as well.”

“They were the ones that were arguing.” She flicks her fingers as if she couldn’t care less. “Something about opening up more hours for the staff. You know how the help is, always wanting more, more, more.” She rolls her eyes as if she had enough experience with that herself. “They can be so demanding.”

Has Venetta actually forgotten she’s the brand manager for Velvet Vanity Spas and Lounges? I hardly think that affords her a fourteen-karat gold toilet.

Essentially, she, too, is the help.

Madame Violet begins to buzz and flicker as an electrical storm seems to be brewing inside that oversized crystal ball of hers.

“Your session will expire in five minutes,” she warns. “Tap your credit card to the top of my noggin to continue our journey as we prognosticate our way to a fabulous future.”

Venetta wastes no time in wasting her money and does just that.

“I’m sorry, Hattie, but I’ve got some serious business to tend to here. If you really want to know about Silas, you should hunt down that reporter who was following him around all night.”

I inch back. “I think I met him. Are you talking about… I think his name was Desmond Leffler? He said he was a reporter with the Brambleberry Bay Gazette .”

“That’s the guy.” She points my way. Hey? Maybe this is why Killion is so taken with her. She does have quite the memory. Poor guy has no clue how badly something like that can backfire on him. My mother always says, ‘The path to a happy marriage is to overlook and forget offenses—and your husband’s indiscretions.’

I balk at the thought. As in turn a blind eye to cheating? Every man on the planet wishes. Sorry, Killion, you’re up a creek without a paddle when it comes to that one.

“Anyway, please tell Killion I said hello.” She glowers at me as she says it. “And remind him that Banister Grimm, my new boyfriend, has invited him to dine with us at his place downtown. I’m looking forward to it.” Boy, am I ever.

I’m about to say something, but I can’t quite seem to get the words out.

Venetta Brandt actually has a boyfriend? And it’s not Killion Major Maddox? How can this be? But surely she’s still obsessed with him, right?

“Go on.” She flicks her fingers my way. “ Shoo, scat. Madame Violet needs to collect her thoughts. My future hangs in the balance. And so does the credit card debt I’m racking up.”

The crystal ball crackles with a burst of miniature lightning bolts inside of it as the floating head glares at Venetta.

“Beware of lipstick shades that clash with your aura,” she warbles, looking pointedly at Venetta’s overdone makeup. She then flits her eyes my way. “And never trust a redhead in purple.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” Venetta’s eyes flash with annoyance. “You’re a disembodied head. What do you know about fashion?”

Madame Violet smirks. “I’ve seen the future, darling. And it’s not flattering for you.”

I stifle another laugh. It’s not every day you get roasted by a fortuneteller.

“Also, Venetta, I foresee many lonely nights if you keep up this attitude.” Madame Violet gives one last parting shot. “Maybe focus less on fortunes and more on making friends.”

Cricket chimes in with a mewl, Or at least get a better wardrobe consultant.

With that, we make our exit, leaving Venetta to fume in her haute couture nightmare.